Monophobia
by lunasgathering39
Summary: Set in the respective 2005-2006 seasons, a case with evidence that looks impossible to the CSI crew, looks all too familiar to the Winchesters. Not slash. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: For those still patiently waiting on a second chapter of Perchance to Dream, I promise I haven't given up on that story. I hope to have more by the end of the month. This was an idea I had long before some the ones I've posted. It is set just after "Scarecrow" for SPN and sometime after "Gum Drops" for CSI. The timeline between the two shows might not be exact, but it is pretty close. Thanks to Muffy for her input on this and no thanks for getting that song stuck in my head and getting it stuck in Dean's. Enjoy and let me know what you think._

* * *

Valerie was excited about their new house and what it represented. She and her husband Doug were finally ready to start a family. The "new" house, a typical Ranch style, had four bedrooms, a den, a family room, a huge back yard with a swimming pool, and the biggest kitchen she'd ever seen. It had plenty of room for a family.

Though she loved her husband dearly and couldn't wait to start having kids, she was also glad for the days she got to spend alone in the house. Since being mugged on her way home from work, Doug never let her out of his sight. He was more than ready to leave New York and all of its stresses behind. When the chance for a transfer to the Las Vegas office presented itself, he'd practically begged her to say yes. Originally, they were both supposed to move to the new house together. In order to ensure he'd have a job when he got there, he had to stay to help train his replacement. Someone had to be there to sign all the papers and she had to start at the new office immediately.

Valerie already unpacked the necessities in the kitchen and all of the computer equipment. The room they'd chosen for the home office was on the far end of the house and had a few quirks that she chalked up to the house being almost fifty years old. There were odd noises, smells, and changes in temperature. One whole corner of the room was a good 10 degrees cooler than the rest, which was strange as that side of the house was always in the sun. She planned to put their computers in that area to protect them from the wicked Vegas summers she read about while researching the move. The smells were the strangest of the quirks. Sometimes she thought she smelled something burning, other times it was more acrid, like sulfur. One time she was certain she smelled baby powder near the closet.

Doug was due to arrive the next day. She'd worked tirelessly getting the place ready for him and planned to make the last night alone as relaxing as possible; a nice long bubble bath, a cup of tea, a little time online, and the last few chapters of a good book. While she ran her bath, she gathered a few candles and her aromatherapy beads. Doug hated the smell of the chamomile and lavender, but they always worked perfectly to calm her nerves. She'd just stepped into the tub and paused when she thought she heard noises, almost like voices coming from the direction of the office. When the noise didn't repeat, she figured she was just hearing things. The calming scents of the bath beads chased the thought of them from her mind. The bath made her sleepy, so she decided to skip the internet surfing and the tea. She got dressed for bed, picked up her book, and got only three pages read before falling asleep with the lights on.

Less than an hour later she was woken from a sound sleep by a loud voice, a woman screaming in the office. She jumped out of bed, grabbed the baseball bat she kept with her since the mugging, and ran to the office. She flipped the light on, bat at the ready, expecting to confront prowlers. What she found was an empty room. Frustrated and a little groggy, she switched the light back off and turned to head back to bed. Someone grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the far wall, near the cold corner. She finally started to truly panic when she could feel hands holding her against the wall, but could see no one in the room with her. The smell of burning returned and she felt herself being lifted off the floor, sliding up towards the ceiling. Once she reached the ceiling, she felt a sharp pain across her abdomen, felt the warm blood spread, saw it drip to the floor. She heard faint laughter, felt heat spread across her body, like she was burning alive, and knowing it was the end, let darkness take her.

* * *

Nick learned early in his career to always make note of his first impressions of a crime scene. The habit had served him well, even closed a few cases. It was so easy to get bogged down in the sheer volume of evidence, sometimes the little details got lost. In this case, everything appeared normal. No signs of a break-in or struggle, nothing to even hint at the death a few rooms away. Each room had boxes neatly stacked against the walls, ready to be unpacked. The house still smelled of fresh paint and new carpet. The closer he got to the room, he swore he could smell something burning.

"Hey, Greg," he said to the young CSI following closely behind him, "Do you smell that?"

"You mean that new carpet smell and the paint?"

"No, it smells like something was burning. No one said anything about a fire."

"I don't smell...oh, wait yeah. It's faint, but you're right. I thought they said the victim was stabbed."

Nick was relieved when it wasn't just him. He still felt unsure of so many things since being buried alive. He hoped he wasn't obvious about it, but he tried never to be alone at a crime scene, never went more than a few feet from whichever night shift crew he worked with. His co-workers would understand the need, would be supportive. He didn't want to burden them with it, to seem so weak again. Everyone at the lab tried to help him get past the ordeal. Only a couple of them, his closest friends, understood that he'd rather not be treated with kid gloves. They treated him no differently, even joked with him about it. Surprisingly, it was Greg he felt most comfortable working with. His constant chatter about anything and everything was so normal, while letting Nick know he wasn't alone, in no danger. He brought his attention back to his job, to the evidence.

"Yeah, that's what first officer on the scene said. He said the husband found her and called it in. I think Brass is questioning him now."

"Maybe the placed burned before and the new paint couldn't quite cover the smell."

"Hmm. That's not a bad theory. We can worry about that after we've examined the scene."

They turned the corner into the room, what looked to be a home office. Things looked as normal as the rest of the house. The right wall was lined with boxes, all neatly labeled "home office/guest room". The wall directly opposite had a couple of book shelves and a computer desk in the corner, the computer already set up and running. The back wall was clear, probably where they planned to put the bed for the guest room. Everything was organized and where it should be. Except for the body of a woman dressed in night clothes lying face down in the middle of the room. Again, no signs of a struggle. No boxes knocked over, nothing broken. He was willing to bet nothing was stolen either. The weird thing was there was also no blood; no trail, no spatter. The complete lack of evidence to speak to the crime was unnerving at best. It looked like a body was dropped in the middle of the floor with no trace of how it was transported.

Judging from the tone in his voice, Greg also noticed the discrepancy and was just as unnerved. "This is weird. How did anyone get a body in the room without leaving a trail?"

"There must be a trail, one we can't see yet. Maybe the killer did an excellent job of covering his tracks. Maybe the husband is lying. We won't know for sure until we check the house, the whole house, from top to bottom. Any word on David's ETA?"

"He's supposed to be here any time now. He'd just finished up his last autopsy when the call came in. Guess that means we process the rest of the room until he gets here?"

"Yeah, you look for any prints or fibers. I'll take photos. We'll move to the bedroom next." As Nick circled the room, getting pictures of everything, he noticed a significant temperature change in the corner where the computer was set up. The burning smell that was faint as they entered the room was much more intense near the computer. After discounting the computer as the source of the smell, he took several pictures of the corner, a reminder to see if the previous owners repaired after a fire. He'd just finished photographing the room when David, the assistant coroner, arrived to determine time and cause of death.

"Hey, Dave. What took you so long?"

"Traffic. You know how it is."

Nick, intrigued to finally find out cause of death watched as David turned the body over. The woman, whose face was completely hidden before, looked terrified, both eyes and mouth opened wide as if in mid-scream. The only visible wound was a long slice across her stomach, though it didn't look fatal. The small amount of blood underneath the body suggested the same. Signs still pointed to death occurring elsewhere, the current location being the dump site. He watched as David took the liver temp to determine approximate time of death. The coroner turned to him, a confused look crossing his face.

"What's wrong?"

"The reading. It doesn't make any sense. I won't be able to give you TOD or the cause until I do the autopsy."

"What? David, what's wrong with the reading?"

"It's too high. According to this she would've either died mere minutes ago or burned to death. The body shows no signs of a fire and they found the body at least an hour ago, so it can't be right."

He and Greg looked at each other, obviously thinking the same thing. _That would explain the smell when we first got here, but how?_

* * *

Dean was thrilled to leave Burkitsville and its bad memories behind. The last 6 months or so had taken its toll on the hunter and he was ready for a break. Not that he'd tell Sam. Sam had issues of his own. Sam would also want to talk about it, get it out into the open and try to make things better. He wasn't ready for caring and sharing. He'd deal with it on his own. Eventually.

He couldn't figure out why one particular issue wouldn't let go. Over the last several weeks he'd been shot, ignored, and left behind by his family. He still couldn't believe their father ignored his plea for help when they went home. Would never forget the pain of Sam calling him pathetic, shooting him with rock salt, and trying to shoot him with the pistol. But the one thing that bothered him most happened back in Lawrence. When their mother appeared, she smiled and said his name. Then she walked past him and apologized to Sam. Only to Sam. Dean would never admit out loud it hurt, but it did. Like his entire family didn't want or need him. When Sam chose to chase after John rather than stay, it was like the final proof he was truly alone. It was the main reason he wasn't able to come up with a plan to free himself. In his heart he'd given up. If his family didn't care, then neither did he. If Sam hadn't shown up when he did, Dean and Emily would've been the last victims of the Vanir.

For now, he'd be happy with what he had and pretend things were fine. He knew the day would come when they found what killed their mom and Jessica. Then it'd only be a matter of time before Sam left again. Left for a normal life with law school, wife and kids, and all that goes with it. He'd be on his own again.

They agreed to head to California. They also agreed that if they came across a case on the way they'd stop. Dean wanted to find John, but he wasn't willing to risk lives in order to find him. He knew John could take care of himself and would call if he needed their help. About an hour outside Indiana, they stopped for lunch at a little diner. Sam was searching the usual sites for a case while he read the local paper. When he bored of that, he looked over their road atlas to find the quickest route to Sacramento. It looked like I-80 would be their home all the way to California. He noticed something on the map that made him chuckle.

"Hey, Sam. Any idea how many Salems there are in the US? Looks like we'll pass one in Utah."

Sam, an exasperated expression on his face, looked up from his computer and said, "Depends. You talking actual towns or census-designated places?"

Forgetting what Sam was like in research mode, Dean made the mistake of encouraging his little brother to elaborate by asking, "What are you talking about?"

"A census-designated place. There are areas not populated enough to be considered a town, but still need to be counted for the census. So they designate these areas with names. Including the census-designated places, there are over 30. If you only count incorporated cities or towns, there are fourteen Salems in the US."

"Ask a simple question, get a geeky answer. Thanks for the lecture there Professor." Though he wondered sometimes where his brother kept so much useless information, it felt good to joke around a little, like before things became so awkward. He knew the only reason Sam agreed to the stipulation that they stop if they found a hunt was guilt. Sam still wouldn't look him in the eye after walking out almost cost Dean his life.

"Funny you should mention Salem. You sure you're not psychic too?"

"Ha ha. Hilarious. Did you find a case in Salem, Utah?"

"Possibly. But it could just as easily be nothing. Several kids claim to have seen something in the cemetery near their home; a guy carrying something large enough to be a body. Several pets have disappeared from the neighborhood and yesterday a kid supposedly went into the cemetery on a dare and never came back."

"That's not much."

"No, but we've checked out less. And it's only a short detour down I-15."

"I-15? We could mix a little pleasure with our business, Sammy. Head down 15 to Vegas for a night or two, then take the scenic route to Sacramento."

"What is it with you and Vegas?"

"Maybe the fast women, cheap food, and a chance to make a quick buck. I could win us enough to lay off the stolen credit cards for a while. They have a prime rib buffet for only $5.99. Prime rib! What's not to love? Come on. You know you're dying to go!" The look in his brother's eyes told him he'd probably get his way, but he decided not to push it.

"Not really. Why don't we see how the case in Salem goes and decide after that?"

"I wonder sometimes how we're related. Ok. Salem, Utah it is. Then it's Viva Las Vegas!"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: This chapter is supposed to be a lot longer. I've had this bit written for months. The SPN part of the chapter refuses to be written just yet, but I am fighting with my muse about that. Decided to post this in the meantime. Sorry for the uber-long wait on this. More coming VERY soon._

* * *

The last thing Greg wanted was to go back to that house, that creepy room. Which, of course, was exactly where he was, alone no less. Nick and Warrick were working through the rest of the house. They'd spent three days and nights sifting through the evidence, no closer to answers than when they first arrived on the scene. Actually they were further from the answers as all the questions led to more questions. The evidence proved frustrating, leading them to dead end after dead end.

The autopsy showed cause of death as burning, though they couldn't figure out how the victim could burn from the inside, no outward signs of fire. There were no chemicals in her system that could affect the system that way, no chemicals at all. Stomach contents were simply the Chinese food she'd had for dinner, verified by the leftovers in her fridge. The room the body was found in was just as perplexing. There was no trace evidence whatsoever placing another person in the room. The husband's fingerprints and epithelials were found only in the hallway, the front room where he'd left his luggage, and on the front door. They did find a baseball bat in the hallway outside the guest room. The only trace they found on that was that of the victim. All they'd ascertained so far was she'd gotten out of bed quickly, tossing the covers aside, and carried the bat with her to the guest room. From there, the case fell apart.

The whole night shift worked on the case as time permitted. Somehow the press had gotten wind of the story, created a panic, and the sheriff was determined to badger them into finding the killer ASAP. Which is how Greg ended up back at the crime scene. Some of the photos taken the first night were damaged. About half of the shots taken of the perimeter of the room had unusual light distortions, most of those being shots of the corner where the computer was set up. Luckily, none of the ones of the body were damaged. Nor were any of the shots from the rest of the house. If they'd used film cameras, Greg would swear the camera was leaking light; they were using digital. So he was sent to get new pictures of the room with a different camera.

_Just get the new pictures and get out._ He knew the new photos wouldn't break the case. They still needed new ones for when the case went to trial. _If it goes to trial. We have to find the killer first._ He started on his right, getting pictures of all the as-yet-unpacked boxes and moved counterclockwise around the room. As he neared the corner with the computer, he swore he heard a faint laugh, like a baby giggling. Then, more audibly, a woman screaming and the baby crying. He felt a rush of cold air and a moment of paralyzing fear that took his breath away.

Afraid to close his eyes, he backed out slowly, trembling. As he was stopped by the wall in the hallway, sliding to the floor, eyes still fixed on the room, he saw the faint impression of a woman; she was stuck to the ceiling, eyes wide with fear. Then she burst into flames, a wave of suffocating heat causing his eyes to water and close. When he opened them again, the room was exactly as it was when he first entered. He couldn't bring himself to move, afraid to go back in, afraid to admit to anyone else what he'd just experienced. The lingering scent of burning flesh was nauseating. He didn't know how long he sat in the hall, immobilized. His senses didn't register anything until he heard Nick call his name.

"Greg. Greg, you ok?"

He tried to answer. Nothing came out.

"Greg! What happened? Answer me man, you're freaking me out!"

His mind finally began to function at something close to normal speed. "Nick? Warrick?"

"Yeah, we're right here. Are you hurt? What the hell happened?"

"No, I'm not hurt. Freaked out, but not hurt. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He worried that telling them the truth would make them wonder about his sanity, but it also seemed to have relevance to their case.

"We've seen some pretty strange stuff. I doubt you could surprise us anymore."

"I think I just saw a ghost."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: No long list of excuses. We all know real life screws things up. Only a simple "sorry so late" to start this chapter._

Not for the first time, Sam was glad the case in Salem turned out to be a bust, kids playing a practical joke that got out of hand. He still felt guilty about walking away from his brother in Indiana and wanted to make it up to him before things got worse. It terrified him to think what could've happened if he'd waited even a few minutes more before going back. Dean tried to hide the fact that he'd been hurt, both physically and emotionally, and not only on that case. The physical injuries were easier to spot and help fix. The emotional scars were another story. With the rough few weeks they'd had, Sam knew Dean wouldn't open up anytime soon. He finally realized the best way to make amends was to admit they didn't need to go to California anymore. Their dad was surely long gone by now. Instead they would do what Dean wanted for a change, they'd go to Las Vegas. He wasn't sure how to broach the subject until he came across the article in the Las Vegas Sun while they were ordering breakfast.

"Hey, Dean. Can we talk?" He tried to keep his tone light to make up for the argument they'd had about where to head next. Sam wanted to get to California as quickly as possible, no Vegas or any other distractions. Dean said they'd decided in Burkitsville that they would wait to hear from Dad and felt their time was better spent finding another case since there would be no Vegas.

"Do we have to?" Dean snapped. "There's really nothing to talk about. You were pretty clear about what you thought last night."

"Fine. You don't have to talk. But at least hear me out?"

"Whatever. But make it quick. We need to get back on the road soon."

"It's about that. I've been thinking about what you said last night." He ignored the mumbled "There's a first" from his brother and continued. "You're right. You were right all along. There's no need to go to California since Dad won't be there anymore."

"What made you change your mind?" He could tell Dean was still angry, but his voice lost a bit of its previous edge.

"I don't know. I guess the truth just finally sank in."

"You can be as stubborn as Dad sometimes." This time the words had no anger to them. "So where to next?"

Sam ignored the comment, hating to be compared with their father. What he had to say next should change the mood at the table considerably. "I found a case. A woman that burned to death with no physical signs there was a fire. None on the body. None in the house. The police are at a total loss."

"Sounds like it could be one of ours. So where is it?"

Rather than come right out and say it, Sam wanted to relish the moment. He turned the laptop around so Dean could see for himself. He watched his brother's expression go from slightly irritated to pure excitement.

"Vegas? Seriously! You found us a case in Vegas?" Dean looked up in surprise and back to the computer to read the article. The next words were so quiet Sam almost missed them. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Why don't I do a little more research while you go apologize the waitress. You were pretty rude to her and I'm not in the mood for any surprises with my breakfast."

Sam spent the rest of breakfast and all of lunch trying to find more information, only coming up with the victim's neighborhood. The police files were locked behind firewalls he'd need more time to hack. To keep himself occupied the rest of the trip to Vegas, Sam decided to look into the people investigating the case; see what they were up against. What he found was not reassuring for their research. They'd have to tread very lightly. The CSI crew in Vegas was accustomed to the more unusual cases and were very thorough. Unfortunately for the Winchesters, the graveyard shift, the group they'd have to work around, were somewhat legendary.

He researched some of the members of that shift and understood why. Most of the high profile cases were solved by them. They also survived more than their share of dangerous situations for a forensics team. Sam was so engrossed in a recent article, he didn't notice they'd stopped. Dean's slightly irritated voice pulled him from the story to show they were in the parking lot of some seedy motel just off the Vegas strip. He could see the turrets of Excaliber in the distance.

"Sam!" said Dean still sounding mildly irritated.

"Huh?"

"Were you paying attention at all? I said we're here. Did you find anything useful?"

"Yes and no. Pertaining to the case, we don't have any more than we did at lunch."

"If it's not about the case, how is it useful?"

"We'll have to find a different way to approach this case. Our usual ways aren't going to work."

"And why not?"

"The team investigating it is why. According to several articles I've read, the CSI team in Vegas, particularly the late shift crew, are the best in the country; the highest rate of closed cases, the leader in new forensic techniques."

"How does that change what we do?" The irritation level in Dean's voice was rising. Sam knew what he was about to say would not improve that.

"It means we can't simply pretend to be Feds and expect them to buy it. They certainly won't talk to reporters. They'll already know everything about the victim; their family, friends, and co-workers, so we can't pretend to be concerned loved ones. The files for the case are locked up tighter than Fort Knox. The only way to learn anything about this case is through them and there's not a chance in hell they will buy any of our usual stories."

"Hmm. Divide and conquer? See if there's a weak link in the group?"

"No, that won't work. The team is a very tight knit group, very loyal and protective of each other."

"So what then?"

"We drive the neighborhood and hope we find the house. With the correct address we can at least research the history of the house before we try anything risky."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I know it's taking a while to get to the main action of the story. Setting up the plot and getting the two groups together was harder than I expected. Please feel free to let me know if something feels wrong or out of character. Now, on with the shows!_

* * *

He'd told Nick and Warrick everything he saw and heard. Part of Greg felt like a fool for what happened at the victim's house last night. The scientist in him balked at the idea of ghosts being real. But that scientist was just as paralyzed with fear as the rest him as he saw the figure on the ceiling, felt the heat of the flames. When the new batch of photos turned out to be corrupted as well, he adamantly refused to go back and get more, refused to step one foot back in that house. Nick and Warrick were kind enough to not push or mock his irrational fears. At least to his face. They even took samples from the ceiling for analysis. He had no idea what they would say behind his back, what Grissom would say when he found out.

As he waited for the results from the samples, Greg went through the rest of the evidence hoping to catch something they all missed. He doubted he'd find anything, but it distracted him. The physical evidence, what little they found, was from the victim; the blood, the skin, and all other trace. They ran the test several times to make sure they didn't miss a thing. All he had was the photos they took of the scene. Both batches were fine until they reached the back left corner of the room. Thinking they might be able to salvage some of the shots, he loaded the digital files on a thumb drive and headed for Archie, the audio/video expert on the team.

Greg paused at the entrance to the A/V lab. He recognized Archie's favorite RPG on the screen, so he knew he wasn't interrupting a case in progress.

He waited for a pause in play to ask, "Hey, Archie. Do a favor for me?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I've got some pictures from our crime scene that aren't usable as they are. I wondered if you might be able to clean them up enough to be admissible in court," he said handing the thumb drive to Archie.

"I'll do what I can. What exactly am I looking for?"

"They're simple shots of the room but we get, I guess you'd call it interference, in the corner where the victim set up her computer." He watched as thumbnails of the pictures appeared on the big plasma screen. "There! Those five right there. The other batch has three or four just like it. I'd say it looks like a light leak if the cameras weren't digital."

Archie clicked on the photos to stack them up full size on the screen. "Weird. It's not the camera and there's no way the computer in the background could create this kind of distortion. It looks like it may be too dense to remove. The court would claim the photo was altered to hide or create evidence. But they don't look like they contain anything useful, just the corner of the room."

"True, but the lack of useful evidence means we need every little thing to be perfect. Nick and Warrick went back to try for clean photos. We still have no clue how the victim died or ended up in that room.

Third time is the charm, right?"

"Let me try a few things before we give up entirely. Who knows what's hiding behind those distortions?"

"Ok. Mind an audience?" Greg watched, always intrigued by what Archie could find in a picture. A few clicks and adjustments to brightness and contrast and the "distortion" looked eerily familiar.

"Whoa. That smudge has a face." Greg didn't know if word of his ghostly encounter reached Archie yet, if the A/V tech was teasing. He tensed, fearing the worst. "Dude, you didn't tell me these smudges were from orbs."

"Orbs?" He feigned ignorance, tried in vain to forget the whole thing happened.

"You know, orbs. As in balls of energy caused by ghosts. These are the clearest I've ever seen. I mean, look you can even see a face in this one."

"You actually believe in that stuff?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You don't seem the type. Oh, I know what this is. Ha ha. Very funny! Did Hodges put you up to this?"

"Put me up to what?"

"The ghost thing. I'm sure the whole building knows by now." Greg knew he should've just looked over the photos on his own. _Maybe I could take some vacation time. They'd forget by the time I got back. Yeah, right._

"Wait, ghost thing? What ghost thing?" He realized that Archie looked genuinely confused. And intrigued.

"You mean you didn't know?" Wishing he'd kept his mouth shut in the first place, Greg told Archie about what happened. "Please don't tell Hodges about this. He would never let me live it down."

"Oh, he probably already knows. I'm usually the last to hear the gossip. I can't believe you actually saw a ghost. That is so cool."

"Didn't feel cool. Felt terrifying. That's why Nick and Warrick are the ones taking the new photos. I can't go back in that house."

"We should check all the photos with distortions. If we can get enough of the face, we might be able to run it through the facial recognition software."

"That's a great idea!" It gave him something to focus on besides the lack of evidence. At least until the guys got back.

* * *

Around ten o'clock Dean parked the Impala a few houses from the well-kept Ranch style home. Still a little irritated with Sam over the last few cases, Dean decided check out the house alone. He told Sam it was to minimize the chance of leaving evidence. Truthfully, he simply wasn't in the mood to talk about everything again. It was one of the nicer homes in the quiet residential neighborhood. He texted the address to Sam so he could start the research on the history of the home.

He'd just finished scanning the front rooms of the house with the EMF when he heard a vehicle pull up, then indistinct voices. _Damn, should've waited until after midnight._ He ducked into a hall closet and hoped for the best, or least not the typical Winchester worst. The indistinct voices became two men, one with a slight Texas drawl and one with a deeper tone and no accent.

"Warrick, you know Greg's not that easily scared. He may be a little goofy sometimes, but he takes his job seriously. Science before supposition. Plus you saw how freaked out he was. If Greg says he saw a ghost..."

Dean made a mental note to find out more about this Greg. He could be their way into the police files.

"Listen to what you're saying Nick. There's no such thing as ghosts. Overactive imaginations and hallucinations. Science can explain the real reasons."

"Then explain how he knew where to look for the new evidence. We never would've considered looking up there. And the fact that both sets of pictures are distorted in the same part of the room, the part where the ghost showed up."

Dean was curious to know what the guy named Nick meant when he said "up there" in reference to evidence. He filed that away with the other things to discuss with Sam. His thoughts were interrupted as Nick continued to make his case.

"You know there's also science to prove ghosts are real. Not the easy to debunk things like orb photos, but hard science."

He lost the rest of the conversation as the two men entered a room down the hall and began taking pictures. As he opened the closet door, hoping to get out before being caught, his EMF started to register activity. He turned to scan in the direction of the room he now knew was the hot spot only to run into the guys backing out of the room, attention fixed on something in the room.

"What are you..." Nick started to question when the EMF went crazy. Dean looked into the room the same moment the ghost on the ceiling burst into flames. As quickly as it happened, the apparition disappeared and the EMF went quiet.

"Holy shit," Dean whispered. _I have to call Sam. This is big._

"Who are you and what are you doing at our crime scene?" demanded Warrick.

Without so much as a pause, Dean said, "So now do you believe in ghosts?"

* * *

_A/N: For anyone still reading "Perchance to Dream", I promise I haven't given up on that one. RL has been testing me and isn't quite done yet. But I plan to post to that one very soon._


End file.
